


impromptu

by gods_among_us (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Hospitals, M/M, Mutual Pining, Terminal Illnesses, pianos and things, theyre dorks... in love... i just....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/gods_among_us
Summary: This is the fourth night that the piano in the lounge had started up.You can't say you dislike it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caryophyllaceae (xphantomhive)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/gifts).



> foooooor my friend!!! im not sure how i feel abt this but i think i like it so.

This is the fourth night that the piano in the lounge had started up.

It might’ve been a nice, maybe even soothing, background noise so you could concentrate on mopping the floors and shit if the music didn’t die after a couple of minutes and start up again, rocking like a ship on the sea, almost like the player’s hands were shaking. But you didn’t mind that the soft music was occasionally thrown for a loop by a sudden pause or the stumbling of fingers over the wrong key. Or you didn’t mind for at least for the beginning. When it began to reach one in the morning, right at the peak of your shift, and the ward was silent save for the soft piano music, you cave and go tell this guy to get some fucking sleep. He couldn’t possibly play piano all night long.

You march straight into the large reception room which is dark except for a couple of lamps. You don’t plan on really telling the guy off so much as you plan on saying, hey, bud, go to bed before you pass out on the piano from exhaustion, but when you see him in the midst of playing a rather beautiful refrain you stop short. He’s pretty. You don’t know if you make a noise or if he can sense you because he looks up at you and blinks, then seems to realize you’re actually there and startles a bit late.

He has these big, glassy blue eyes that look almost fake and messy hair. He also has bright blue braces he’s probably much too old to still have on. His voice is as soft as the piano music when he says he’s sorry to have disturbed you. His right-hand twitches above the keys, itching to play, so you cross your arms and tell him to do so. He blinks, confused, evidently, but does so and plays something you don’t think you’ve heard before. Then again, you’re not one for the piano.

He doesn’t move his left hand, though, and lets the lower notes go unplayed. You ask him why this is. He says he’s got a tumor cash crop along the nerves in his arms and he laughs even though it’s not funny. His bitter laughing hangs hollow in the empty reception room and he clears his throat to continue. Says he can’t play the bass notes anymore. You weren’t expecting an answer like that, but you guess you got to deal with sad shit like that, it’s a job quirk. You almost want to ask him to play again, you want his melodies to accompany your sweeping and mopping. Instead, you tell him to go to bed. His fingers skim the piano keys and he says okay.

You find yourself opting not to clean for the last hour of your shift in favor of looking up shit about pianos.

\---

You feel like you’re something of a pining teenage girl. You’re a bit hesitant to approach him the next day, you aren’t quite sure whether or not you are allowed to speak to him. He’s more songs, probably meant-to-be choral music, maybe religious music, but you don’t really know. You’re just there to hear the top harmony. You clean nearest the piano first, where it’s the loudest, then you move out. You try not to move so far as to where you cannot hear him through the thick walls of the ward.

That night, you are so antsy about speaking to him that he leaves on the tick of one in the morning without you having to approach him. You try not to be disappointed. He is just another patient, you tell yourself, just another sorry sonovabitch whose hospital bill was gonna lead into your paycheck and you tell yourself this over and over. You almost believe it, too, until you go to clock out and see the piano again.

This boy is different. Somehow.

\---

The next day you talk to him first thing, just so he knows that you don’t dislike him. He seems glad to have your company, and he even turns away from his piano to speak to you. You know you’re supposed to be cleaning but you also know that the cameras in the main part of the ward have been down for almost three months now because your IT guy was a lazy piece of shit and also because he frequently stole Mountain Dew from the vending machine there and he didn’t want any evidence left behind.

You’re pretty positive you’ll get by with only a bit of slacking off.

You think he is very sweet. You figure that his singing voice must be as beautiful as his actual voice which is as beautiful as his piano playing. You ask him why he still plays piano if he can’t play it to it’s fullest and he shrugs.

He tells you that’s like asking a chef with no taste buds why they cook. It’s all they’ve ever done before, so it’s not like one little disadvantage is going to stop them, right? You figure losing your taste buds and losing control of your left arm are two entirely different things, but you don’t say that. You just nod in understanding and ask how long he’s been playing.

He tells you since he was eight, the piano has been his best friend. You snort and tell him he must’ve led a pretty dorky childhood. He only sticks his tongue out at you and says that it was more fulfilling that yours, Mr. Janitor Man.

 _Classism,_ you say with a shake of your head, _you privileged shitlord._

 _Who’s the one with a tumor?_ he asks you and you laugh although it is inappropriate.

 _My bad,_ you say and he grins smugly.

 _That’s what I thought,_ he says, standing up, _now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an incredibly steamy date with my hospital bed a-waiting._

You bid him goodnight with a smile and he waves to you, saying goodbye in some language you’re sure you should be able to recognize but you don’t. You watch him turn down the hall before picking up your broom where it lays against the wall and turning back to your cleaning.

\---

He gets new sheet music the next day, and an entirely new tune is spun, this one considerably more lively. You ask him about the piece and he says that his sister composed it for him, come listen! It doesn’t have any bass parts so he can play the whole thing by himself. You listen as he happily shows off the best of his talents, and you clap when it’s drawn to a close. He stands and curtsies with an imaginary skirt, grinning wildly.

 _Boy, am I glad to finally have an audience,_ he tells you while you’re eating Chinese food you bought on the way to work because you knew you wouldn’t be working, _it’s been forever since someone listened to me play._

 _Those assholes don’t know what they’re missing,_ you tell him through a mouthful of chow mein and sesame chicken, _you’re a piano god amongst men._

He rolls his eyes. _I wouldn’t go that far, but thank you. I really appreciate that. Do you mind if I have some of this?_

He gestures to the sack of Chinese food you sat on top of the piano. You shrug, swallow your food, and say, _Go for it, bro._

He grins and treats himself to an eggroll, holding his hand under his chin while he eats as to not make a mess. You tell him to make a mess, you’re a janitor anyways, and he just rolls his eyes.

 _I was raised right,_ he tells you simply and it makes you laugh a little.

 _Of course, my bad,_ you say, holding up a hand, _I don’t know how I didn’t see it._

He nods. _You should be sorry,_ he agrees, then with a sly smile, says, _classism._

 _You’re such a dweeb, ripping off my lines like that,_ you throw a package of soy sauce at him and he giggles, swatting it away.

_Copying is the highest form of flattering, stupid._

\---

The next day, you see the boy again. It’s late. Might even be later than before, but you aren’t checking the time.

You greet him and he says hello in return and he asks if you want to request something.

You shrug. _Play the_ _Space Odyssey theme song._

He rolls his eyes and says, _That’s composed for an orchestra, numbnuts._

You know that. You’re working for your major in music theory. You shrug and tell him that you don’t know much about music.

He looks almost offended, it’s funny, kinda. He scoots over and pats the space on the bench next to him and you sit down even though you’re supposed to be cleaning like you’re paid to do, and he starts teaching you the key of C, playing the notes and making you play them back and it’s cute, really, even though you could bet your life on your ‘Do Re Mi’ abilities, you flounder so he’ll help you. His brow will scrunch up and he’ll play some notes and you’ll play them back, and when you got it right he looks so proud. He has dimples that became obvious when he smiles. He is fucking adorable.

He plays pitch-finder with you for a while and after hearing his voice humming ‘Mi Fa So’ a fuckton of times you decide that you won’t die a happy man unless you hear him singing. And so you say, _You should sing something for me._

He shook his head. _I don’t sing, I’m just a plain ol’ accompanist._

_C’mon, I bet your voice is gorgeous. It has to be a sin keeping that from me. You’re religious, right? That’s one of the sins, ain’t it? Greed?_

He just nudged your shoulder with his own, teasingly, and said, _doesn’t your lazy butt have a building to clean? That’s a sin too. Sloth._

 _Touché,_  you replied, narrowing your eyes for an effect he laughed at. You got up and ruffled his hair, which was soft to the touch, and he grumbled. It was your turn to chuckle at him, and you left to finish your work around the facility. You noticed, after a little bit, he was playing the treble parts to a bunch of sappy love songs.

\---

He is not there the next day. The building feels quiet without his music. You sit at the piano for a little bit, playing a few little things on the left side of the piano, the bass notes he couldn’t play.

\---

When he returns a handful of days later, you see him earlier in the day since you had to swap shifts with your friend Tavros who has some big family thing today. It’s only five in the evening, just barely getting dark, and you notice the way he holds his left shoulder. He smiles at you, and you don’t want to be rude but you cannot help but stare at the place where his left arm used to be. He tells you they think it’s spreading, so this was just a precaution. You nod.

 _Do you feel alright?_ you ask him and he blows a raspberry.

_Of course, I feel fine, dummy. I’m just excited to tell people I lost this arm in ‘Nam._

You snort. _You don’t look that old, dude._

_Gosh, dermatologists must hate me._

He tugs you over to the piano and you pretend to be adjusting the shelves nearby so you can listen without being called out by your manager. When he sits down at the piano, there are other people around, since it is midday. Doctors busying themselves and patients lurking, there’s rampant conversation in the reception room and you want to tell them all to shut up and listen to the music. He plays the treble notes carefully, fingers shakier than you remember them being. Quite a few people stare at him, you think it makes him nervous because he stumbles over his notes and when people snort and roll their eyes he stops and holds his left shoulder again, fingers digging into the bandages. You want to yell at them even more, to tell them that _he’s trying_ and _he’s gorgeous at this_ but you don’t say anything you let him keep trying.

Eventually, you can’t take it another moment. You know people are watching you but you slide next to him and start playing the bass notes to the Space Odyssey theme that you learned for piano last night, spending your entire night doing it and cutting off your sleep for it. He seems to know what to play without prompting, almost, bewildered at how good you are when he thought you’d never seen a clef in your entire life just a couple of days ago.

People stop staring, but that’s a good sign. You feel the burn of your employer’s eyes, hot on your back, but you only stare at John as his fingers fall from the keys and you play a couple more before turning to look at him, you hand stilling.

He says he didn’t know you could play like that. You shrug and tell him you’re a quick learner.

\---

Your boss only gives you a warning, thank god. You can’t lose this job.

You can’t lose him.

\---

You get asked to clean the opposite of the ward as to avoid distractions that night, but it’s okay. The next night you sneak back over to see the boy, and he’s setting up the music and waving you over and telling you he hasn’t been able to play this since forever.

It’s not even really a song. It’s a refrain, just the chorus of something but when you play it with him, he seems to get very serious about it. He tells you he wrote that, that it’s his, really, and you tell him it’s beautiful.

You tack on, _just like you,_ as almost an afterthought but he blushes and tells you _thank you._ After a few moments of silence, he leans up to kiss you.

His lips are soft and yours are probably chapped but it’s whatever because this boy is kissing you and you hold his face and he presses himself against you and rests his hand on your shoulder and the bench is wobbling threateningly. Eventually, it topples over and takes you two with it. You land on your side and hiss out a  _fuck!_ , but he is giggling, groping for his glasses that have skidded across the floor and when he sits up and looks down at you, still laid on the ground, with that smile…

You realize you are in love with this boy.

\---

You get to kiss him the next night, too. He doesn’t play much piano but he tells you stories. He tells you about his dad and his sister and his friends and that one time he got chased by wild dogs on his cousin’s private island, _dude I promise I am not kidding you!_

He seems awful calm that night. He laughs like normal and when you ask him if he’s going to play piano, he cuddles closer to you on the uncomfortable, probably donated, couch and shakes his head.

 _Not tonight,_ he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck, _I think I’m done with piano for a little bit._

_Damn. What a disappointment._

_I just wanna spend a little bit more time with you,_ he tells you softly, wisely, like he knows something you don’t,  _because you are…_

He pulls back and stares you straight in the eyes, _the…_

He leans forward a little so he’s even closer to you, _biggest nerd loser I know and you’re getting jealous of that piano._

You push him back and he dissolves into giggles.

 _It isn’t my fault I’d rather have you pushing my keys all day, jackass,_ you tell him which only makes him laugh harder and clutch his chest.

When he gasps a sigh of relief and leans back against you, it’s silent for awhile, the only noise is the whirring of the air conditioning.

 _I love you,_ he tells you, _thank you for being here._

 _Where else am I gonna go?_ you ask him, _you’re kinda the only highlight of my life right now._

He swallows, then closes his eyes and pushes himself against you. _You’re the brightest highlight of mine too, Dave._

That night, unlike others, he begs that you come to tuck him in. When you begrudgingly comply, he pulls you off to his room and settles in his bed, hugging a stuffed rabbit to his chest you immediately raise an eyebrow at.

 _Judging me?_ he asks you, _you have no right._

 _Fine, excuse me,_ you say, tugging the blankets over him and kissing his forehead, _sleep tight, princess._

He throws his arms around you and presses his lips to yours, and of course, you don’t try to pull back, you just close your eyes and let it happen.

 _Thanks,_ he says again, smiling faintly, _now go home and get some rest, alright? Your shift ended, like, an hour ago._

 _Yeah, I know,_ you say with a sigh, _don’t get into too much trouble tonight, you hear?_

 _Loud and clear,_ he confirms.

 _Seeya tomorrow, Egbert,_ you say and he nods.

_Seeya._

You walk out of his room and clock out a little bit too late. You’ll bullshit something about your watch being slow if your boss asks, you suppose. It’s better than clocking out early.

\---

The next day you come into work and they are removing the piano. Temporarily, you flip your shit, almost having a heart attack.

 _What the hell are you doing?_ you ask as a couple of men begin to load the piano onto a platform to wheel it out.

 _Sorry, sir,_ one of them says, tipping his cap to you, _But this piano was only here because some kid wanted it to be._

 _Yeah, I know some kid wanted it to be,_ you say, anger overcoming your senses because that is John’s piano, you and John’s piano, _And he’s gonna be pretty pissed when he-_

 _Sir,_ the quieter of the two says in a low, exasperated voice, _that patient is no longer with us._

You feel your heart stop. There is nothing you have ever wanted to hear less than that.

\---

 _Do you ever think you’re being ridiculous about that thing?_ Karkat asks you one night, _Like, we could sell that shit and make a couple hundred, you think?_

 _Fuck that noise,_ you replied, dusting the top of the piano. When you pulled your hand away it was covered in the stuff, _Jesus, you need to clean this._

_I’m not cleaning shit. It’s your piano, jackass._

You shrug and sit on the bench. You’d kept it, and you didn’t know why. It was bulky and it took up room and you were still decidedly broke because you’d quit the only steady job you’d ever had but you needed it. It acted like an anchor. It was emotional support or whatever. Besides, you still played it often.

But only the bass notes.


End file.
